


The Rains

by ImpulsiveWeeb



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arranged Marriage, F/M, Oneshot, Porn With Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-10 02:35:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,635
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12902115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ImpulsiveWeeb/pseuds/ImpulsiveWeeb
Summary: The Rains of Castamere played softly in the background. Sansa deemed it appropriate; The song sung of a Lannister victory and the Lannisters have won.(a reimagining of Sansa + Tyrion's wedding night.)





	The Rains

**Author's Note:**

> warning: slightly dubious consent due to sansa not really wanting to marry tyrion.

_And who are you, the proud lord said,_

_that I must bow so low?_

 

Queen Cersei almost gave her a look of pity on the night of the wedding feast. Sansa could’ve sworn she heard The Rains of Castamere playing softly in the background, but she wasn’t sure, everything on her wedding feast was nothing but a hazy, miserable daze. But if the song was playing, it was fitting. The song was a song of victory, a threat and a warning. The Lannisters always win and now they've won the North as well.   
_I am a silly girl, a foolish girl_. She reflected bitterly, ignoring her dwarf husband who was drinking himself silly. Sansa willed herself not to glare, not to look overly sullen, not to look defeated. _I am a wolf, I am a Stark of Winterfell. They cannot break me._  Those words, which were slowly becoming her own personal mantra, were the only words in her mind. She couldn’t fail, couldn’t show her dismay, couldn’t weep over silly childhood dreams that were lost the day her father lost his head, she must be the bird they all think her to be.

“Little dove,” Queen Cersei cooed from above. Sansa put on a forced smile – “Be a polite lady and smile, Sansa!” the voice of her former Septa’s voice echoed _But she’s dead, like father_. – “Yes, Your Grace?” Cersei kept on a soft, gentle smile but Sansa knew better now, she saw the malice dancing in the Queen’s emerald eyes.

_She is a lioness. But I am a wolf._

 

_  
Only a cat of a different coat, that’s all_

_the truth I know._

 

“You look so miserable, little dove. Are you ill?” Sansa could pick up on the joy in Cersei’s voice. “I am fine Your Grace, perhaps a little tired from today’s events.” Sansa replied smoothly, her voice and face devoid of emotion. “Oh, I felt tired on day of Robert and I’s wedding too, little dove. But believe me, if you are tired now you’ll be exhausted after the bedding.” Cersei’s voice was like silk, but Sansa knew the Queen. She knew she was a bitter woman. “Leave her alone, sweet sister,” Tyrion’s drunken voice drawled over. His mismatched eyes were unfocused. Sansa fought down the gag of repulsion. _Surely, you cannot be this hideous everywhere?_  
Her lord husband, the imp of the rock, Tyrion Lannister. He was not cruel, no he was kind. He had a scar on his face from the battle of the Blackwater, his gold Lannister hair was beginning to bald, a mismatched bread of black and gold framed his lower face and his mismatched eyes of green and black were unnerving.  
Cersei bristled, and Sansa imagined it to be similar to a lioness snarling but she back downed, presumably thinking having Tywin Lannister’s Imp and the traitor’s daughter marry was embarrassment enough for both her and Tyrion. She wondered if her wedding would protect her from Joffrey, but she could see him staring at her lustfully and didn’t hold much hope. What could he do, anyways? He is a dwarf and Joff is a King.

Despite her misgivings about the wedding, despite her horror at marrying the imp, she did feel a measure of affection for the kindest Lannister.  
_but a Lannister is always a Lannister, kind or cruel._ She felt her lord husband grab at her. His hands were small and stubby. Sansa sighed softly before turning her head to him. “My Lord?” She asked, her voice bland of emotion. “Sansa… I….” She found little comfort in his discomfort, but smiled sweetly. “Are you alright, my lord?” “Sansa, I.. I wish I could be better,” He said, bitterness lacing his voice. _Wine is loosening his tongue. Will his remember any of this?_ Before she could respond, Joffrey stood on a table and screamed, his voice slurring due to his over drinking. “Bedding! It’s time to bed them!”  
Sansa froze in fear. Tyrion slammed his knife on the table, a vicious snarl on his lips. “There’ll be no bedding.”

 

_In a coat of gold or a coat of red,  
_

_a lion still has claws._

 

Sansa was positive Joff would kill her new lord husband. _Not only will I be a traitor’s daughter, I will be widow_. The though almost made her laugh a bitter laugh. Tywin Lannister defused the situation and Tyrion lead her to the bedchambers where the last of her innocence would truly be killed. She looked longingly at the balcony in Tyrion’s room. She could throw herself from it and let it all end, take her maidenhead and her claim with her, let it be known that Sansa Stark would rather die than give Winterfell to a Lannister. Yet she couldn’t do it. Instead, she stood before Tyrion Lannister’s bed, shaking, as her husband poured them wine. She eagerly drank the wine. _It’ll be easier if I am drunk._ She watched her husband drink his own wine. Her hands went to the lace of her dress, fumbling with the tiny material. Tyrion watched her, lust in his green eye and an unreadable emotion in his black one.

 

_And mine are long and sharp, my lord,  
_

_as long and sharp as yours._

 

If Tyrion had any misgivings, he must have forgotten them once her dress came loose and her small clothes slid off. Her nipples hardened in the cold. She shuddered from the cold and the fear of having the Imp take her maidenhead. Her long auburn hair brushed against her buttocks. She wished she had styled it so it covered her breasts, for having the Imp stare at her like she was a piece of meat made her have to fight down not only revulsion but arousal.  
_I am fool,_ Sansa thought bitterly as she got on the bed. _A silly fool._ Tyrion stripped as well, even his manhood was ugly, Sansa noticed. It was purple and almost bursting. It was a good thing Sansa had taken some moon tea from the Tyrell’s storage. She’ll not carry a Lannister babe. As Tyrion captured her lips with his, she was reminded of another kiss. A kiss that came from a mad dog. He had kissed her and left her with only a cloak and the heat of the burning water. Water the Imp had set a light.  
“ _ahhh_ ….” She whimpered pathetically as Tyrion suckled on her budding breasts like a babe. She wanted to question him, but it wasn’t her place. She didn’t understand it. She was repulsed by him, that much was sure, so why was heat pooling in the pit of her stomach? _I am no whore … I am a wolf…_ she thought weakly as Tyrion made his way to her womanhood. He laughed against her mound, which made her bite her lip to hold back the sigh of content. Tyrion said something, she was sure of it, but she couldn’t hear it. A pudgy finger slipped into her tight womanhood. A groan of pain escaped her, but soon she was beginning to feel pleasure. How can this feel good? She wanted to scream, but she would not scream. _I am a wolf….!_

 

_And so he spoke, and so he spoke,  
_

_that lord of Castamere._

  
“Sansa.” Tyrion said, an edge to his voice. “I’m going to enter you now. Is that ok?” Sansa picked up on the desperation in his voice. _He just wants to be loved,_ Sansa realised, reflecting on an earlier conversation with Cersei. “I…It’s ok, my lord…” Sansa got out, her face flushed. She knew she shouldn’t blush; it clashed horribly with her hair. He entered her slowly but Sansa cried out when he took her maidenhead. In the dark, Sansa mused, he could be Loras Tyrell.

 _But Loras Tyrell wouldn’t want a deflowered traitor’s daughter, you silly girl._ A voice whispered. _Tyrion Lannister is the best you’ll get; he is a Imp, a monster. And you have a traitor’s blood._ The voice sounded a lot like Cersei’s. Tyrion’s grunt brought her back to reality. He had started moving after giving her some time to adjust to his length. As he thrusted, Sansa gripped the bed sheets and grit her teeth, _I will not scream!_ she repeated in her mind over and over. Yet she couldn’t hold back the pathetic moans she let out as his length stretched out her womanhood.

 _Arya would die before letting a Lannister bed her._ The voice that sounded like the Queen’s cried out gleefully.

  
_But I’m not Arya!_  
Sansa thought as pleasure hit her, wave after wave. She wanted to scream so badly but she held her tongue as best as she could. If she did moan her husband’s name, well… that was something only she and him would know.

  
  
_But now the rains weep o’er his hall,  
_

_with no one there to hear_

  
“Saaaansaaaa…!” Her husband drawled out as he released his seed into her. Sansa let out a strangled cry as he did so. Once her pleasure had subsided shame filled her. _What have I_ _done?_ Sansa wanted to weep, she wanted to scream, she wanted to hit Tyrion but shamefully, she wanted to do it again. A part of her wonder if The Hound would’ve taken her if she had gone with him on the night the Blackwater erupted into brilliant green flame. Would he be gentle with his little bird? She would never know. Her husband said nothing as he got up and cleaned himself. He passed her a towel to clean herself with and she took it, mumbling her thanks. As he got into the bed beside her, a stunted arm thrown over her waist, she allowed a single tear to slip down her cheek.

 

  
_Yes now the rains weep o’er his hall,  
_

_and not a soul to hear._

**Author's Note:**

> one shot made to get my writing juices going again. hope you all enjoyed <3


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